Swami Kamiprajna settled himself onto his devotional cushion, anticipating the arrival of his new disciple. She had been coming to hear his teachings for several weeks now, and she showed all the signs that she was ready. She followed his every word with rapt attention, and looked at him with wide, glistening eyes through the chanting service when his lecture was concluded.

            Last week, at the conclusion of his talk about “watering the flower of wisdom within,” she had worked up the courage to pose a question. “Is it possible,” she had asked breathlessly, seemingly overcome by awe, “for me…I mean for someone…to overcome sensual desire?” That was when he knew that he could summon her for a private “interview”.

            This was a scene Bill Parsons had played out many times in recent years. His guru, a wizened yogi in Andhra Pradesh, had given him the name “Kamiprajna” when he skipped out of Yale Law and flew to India in search of enlightenment in the 70’s. Back then he was deeply committed to the spiritual path, and eager to share his insight with people back here in California. But over time he found that the flesh was weak.

            She entered the meditation chamber, and Kamiprajna had to fight to contain himself. She was beyond beautiful; she was sexy in a way that made him want to get on all fours and howl like a wolf. Her legs went on forever, and her breasts were full and shapely in a way that one only seemed to encounter in classical art or dreams. She wore a short dress that showed all of her curves, and her legs were sheathed in sheer black stockings that glistened temptingly in the soft lighting of the meditation chamber.

            “Namaste,” she said, pressing her palms together and favoring him with a shy glance from her exquisite green eyes.

            “Come sit here by me, my child,” beckoned Kamiprajna, patting a cushion set up adjacent to his.

            Her perfume engulfed him as she arrayed herself on the cushion, leaning toward him invitingly. “Thank you for granting me this private meeting, Swami,” she breathed.

            “You have been a most attentive pupil,” he replied, leaning close and gazing intently into her eyes. “I can tell you are a serious seeker on the spiritual path.”

            “Oh, yes, Swami. I hope to be as serious as you.”

            As she spoke, Kamiprajna broke eye contact and let his gaze travel over her magnificent body. He did not catch any irony in her tone. “I was intrigued by your question about sensual desire,” he mused in a voice of feigned detachment. “You are troubled in this way?”

            “Yes, Swami,” she confessed, leaning closer so that her breasts almost grazed the sleeve of his robe, and so that he could feel her breath on his neck. “I’m gripped with the desire for a man’s touch.”

            Kamiprajna had been down this road many times, and knew its signs. He placed his hand upon her thigh. She moaned softly at Kamiprajna’s touch, sending a jolt of longing through his cock. “I can help you with these feelings, my child,” he cooed.

            “But my problem runs very deep, Swami.”

            “How so, my child?” asked Kamiprajna, running his hand down past her knee, to the slope of her calf.

            “It is not just my feelings…the feelings I arouse in men are very intense…”

            “Yes?” Kamiprajna’s breathing was ragged and swift, his heart was racing. His hand traveled back up her perfect leg, retracing the arc of her thigh.

            “I have a hypnotic effect on men. They become mesmerized by my beauty.”

            “When…does this happen my child?” Kamiswami said this with some difficulty, slurring his words slightly.

            “It’s happening to you right now, Bill.”

            It was her voice, but the words came through Kamiprajna’s consciousness hazily, as if from far away. Without him realizing it, his vision had become blurry around the periphery. Only her enticing form was in sharp focus.

            “What did you call me?” he asked.

            “Your desire for me overwhelms you, Bill. You’ve had many women in here like this, haven’t you?”

            “Yes….many…” he heard himself confess, without intending to do so. “What is happening?” he found the willpower to ask.

            “I’ve worked my spell on you. You are in the power of Mistress Marquesa. Say it.”

            “I am in the power of Mistress Marquesa.” Bill no longer had control of his own voice. Another was speaking through him.

            “And what am I, Bill?”

            Bill Parsons was confused. How did he get here? Why was he on his knees? Only one thing was clear. The woman he was kneeling in front of was the most beautiful he had ever seen. What was she? Who had asked the question? It didn’t matter…he knew the answer.

            “You are a Goddess,” Bill intoned reverently.

            “That is right, Bill. Now worship me.”

            Bill went forward on this hands and knees and kissed the feet of the Goddess before whom he had prostrated himself. He did not notice the gasps of all the people in the room, just as he did not remember being led out of the meditation chamber into the main sanctuary of his “temple”.

            “Your ‘swami’ is now My slave,” the Goddess told the assembled disciples. “You heard him confess to having his way with many women. I will make him do penance for all of them he has abused. He has seen the light: there is no truth higher than his desire for Me. Anyone who wants to join him as my slave can come find Me. I am Goddess Marquesa.” The looks of shock and disillusionment on the disciples’ faces broadcast how painful the truth about their guru had been to learn. None of the stunned crowd watching could make any reply other than to stare in rapt awe.

            Goddess Marquesa started for the door. As She exited, the crowd parted for Her spontaneously; several of them fell to their knees. “Heel, boy,” the Goddess ordered, and Bill Parsons obediently crawled after Her.